


Homesteading

by dontrushme



Category: Star Trek
Genre: M/M, Pregnancy, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 13:25:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11647467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontrushme/pseuds/dontrushme
Summary: Spock had resigned himself to their perfect, beautiful (childless) life in the rural suburbs of Boston, when Jim tells Spock that he's pregnant.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's not mpreg. I mean it's mpreg in that it is a guy who gets pregnant but it's not what mpreg usually means.  
> Also, I'm not gonna edit it, or even read it after I finish it, so like, I'm sorry about that but it's probably fine. It's self indulgent nonsense so whatever

Spock had never imagined that his life could be like this.

Surveying the slightly lopsided wooden farmhouse, he felt warmer than any Vulcan had a right to in the middle of October. The air was crisp and biting, the leaves on the sycamore to the left of the house had turned golden, and a pumpkin leered from the porch. It was easily twice the size of his own head. Spock knew of Jim’s affinity for the colorful gourds, and when he had passed the local market earlier that week, he had stopped and brought Jim home the biggest, most perfect one in the row. They had carved it together- or rather, Jim had carved the fanciful decoration into it, which he claimed kept away “spirits,” while Spock roasted the seeds.

The whitewashed door opened, and Spock felt even warmer at the sight of his husband as Jim stepped onto the porch. Jim always knew exactly when he had returned home from work. And he always came to the front door and kissed Spock and asked him how his work had been. The little routines, the slow dancing in the living room, the quiet reading side by side, the laughter, the screaming arguments, the make up sex and the just-because sex and the morning sex and the stress-relieving sex- every part of the life they had built together was perfect, and while Spock could not have imagined this, did not mean he would ever, ever give it up.

As per the routine, Jim kissed Spock- quick and honey sweet- and led him into the kitchen, where a cup of hot chocolate and a cup of spiced tea sat on the counter next to the ingredients for their dinner. Jim sat at the kitchen table and began drinking the hot chocolate in contemplative silence as Spock warmed his face in the steam coming off the tea and began preparing their meal, occasionally sharing parts of his day. He was a research professor at one of the colleges in the nearby city, and the pay, the vacation time, and the interesting colleagues and students made up for the slightly longer commute. He was not worried about his husband’s relative silence; sometimes Jim became very focused on his own work and would work a problem over in his head all night.

Spock made up two plates of the vegetable curry and rice and sat across from Jim at the kitchen table. He took the time they ate in extremely comfortable silence to study Jim’s face; he looked vaguely worried, a tiny crease forming between his eyebrows. Spock leaned across the table and brushed a Vulcan kiss to his bondmate’s brow, projecting soothing feelings through their bond and his fingertips. “What is bothering you, _ashayam_?”

Jim met his eyes and quickly looked away. “Well, um… you know how I take, um, those hormone treatments? And we don’t use any… condoms when we have sex, because, obviously, there’s no chance of any STIs, and…” He flushed a pleasant, glowy pink along his cheeks and neck. Spock did not allow himself to be distracted by this, because he knew that Jim was struggling to speak. It was illogical for him to feel any shame, but Spock knew that he had grown up in one of the few places on Earth where it was still acceptable to discriminate against someone based on their gender identity and Jim held some of that taboo close to his heart. Despite Spock being very well acquainted with Jim’s body and knowing everything about his husband’s medical records and anatomy, Jim barely ever spoke aloud on these matters, finding it much easier to bare this part of himself in mind melds.

“Yes, Jim?” Spock said softly, moving his hand from Jim’s forehead to his cheek.

He leaned into the touch and took a deep, slightly shuddery breath. “I don’t know how, Spock, it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I think… I think I’m pregnant.”

Spock froze. Jim grabbed his hand and pressed it against his face, babbling in a panic. “I don’t know how, it really shouldn’t be possible, I just- I don’t know- I’m so scared, Spock, I don’t know what to do, baby, what are you thinking?” He could tell that Jim had been using rudimentary shielding techniques to hide this from him, but they came crashing down with a flood of terror and confusion and happiness and more fear. Jim was afraid of what Spock would think, he was afraid of confronting this part of himself, he was afraid that he had not realized fast enough and the baby had already been negatively impacted by the testosterone he had taken as recently as three days ago. “Spock, I’m so sorr-“

Jim squeaked when Spock pushed the table to the side and kissed him, so tender and reassuring, a rock in Jim’s arms. “Do not dare apologize,” Spock said darkly. He pushed his overwhelming joy at the thought of a quarter-Vulcan child, fleeting, lovely images of a smiling baby with pointed ears, images he had long held close to his heart and, illogically, hidden from his bondmate. Jim’s eyes welled with tears. “And do not cry,” he continued, much softer. The dishes forgotten, Spock led Jim into their bedroom, spread him out over the soft flannel sheets, and made love to him, slow, gentle, tender, reverent.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, cold fall light fell across Jim’s relaxed form, his parted lips, and although Spock knew logically that there would be no showing this early in the pregnancy, he briefly imagined that Jim’s belly was, perhaps, slightly more rounded than usual. He stood and left the bedroom as quietly as possible, going to the living room to call in sick and to alert Dr. McCoy that they would be coming to see him that afternoon. When he returned, he found Jim sitting up in bed, blinking against the weak light. “Mmm,” he said, his voice slurred with sleep. “Missed you.”

“Jim, I have only been gone 10 minutes and 43 seconds. I did not leave you.” Spock replied. “I have called Dr. McCoy to tell him to expect us, although I did not inform him of what you told me last night. I believed that you may want to tell him yourself, in person.”

Jim blinked some more, fighting to wake up. “Okay.” He said a little stupidly. “Thanks. Love you.”

“And I, you,” Spock said, crossing the room to run his fingers across Jim’s scalp as he tried to wake up. “We will have to leave in an hour if we are to make it to Georgia before this afternoon. I will make you breakfast, if that is agreeable.”

Breathing deeply, Jim pushed his face against Spock’s side and nodded mutely, engendering in him a rush of protectiveness.

 

**

 

McCoy, in his gruff way, was genuinely happy to see Jim and Spock. His clinic was efficient and well-staffed, and Spock, despite his ambivalence towards medical facilities, always felt comfortable taking his bondmate here. He took them back into one of the examination rooms and, upon hearing Jim’s nervous explanations, began to take readings with the scanners and take a sample of blood to send to the lab technician in the back of the clinic. Spock kept his fingers on Jim’s.

Examining the scans, McCoy laughed. “Well, Jimmy, I sure don’t know how you did it, but the drugstore tests weren’t wrong. You have a few options here-“

Jim cut in urgently. “Bones, we want to keep the baby. If we can. If I can even…”

“I’ll do some more tests, but with what you’ve told me, kid, I wouldn’t be too worried. You’ll need more supportive care than other pregnancies, certainly, and you’ll have the same risks, but with modern medicine I don’t see why y’all shouldn’t start picking out names.” Spock felt a deep sense of relief flood through his bond as Jim squeezed his hand.

They stayed in Georgia for the evening, entertaining Christine and helping her cook dinner. After dinner, McCoy promised to call with any and all information, and sent a packet of information to the comm in Jim and Spock’s house. “Just be careful,” he reminded Jim. “Make him be careful,” he told Spock.

The drive back up the coast was a few hours in Jim’s personal transport, certainly worth it to visit a close friend and a doctor that Spock could entrust his bondmate to, but longer than it would be on the public hyperloops. Jim, however, enjoyed the open road, and Spock, driving through the peaceful dark, his husband sleeping in the passenger seat, could see the appeal.

 

**

 

Winona Kirk came to visit them over Christmas. Spock was not overly fond of the holiday, but he enjoyed the cheerful emotions that emanated from his bondmate and from any guests they had over. Jim’s mother was, most years, one of those happy guests. Jim was showing, a pleasant bump making most of his clothes fit wrong, too stubborn to let Spock buy him pregnancy clothes. However, the big, chunky sweater he wore when they went to pick up Spock’s mother-in-law from the transit station hid it somewhat. She did not yet know; they had decided to not make the announcement until a little later than most human couples would, due to the slightly increased possibility of complications. Jim’s mother would be the first they would tell, and Spock planned to call his own father soon after.

They made it back to the farmhouse, snow muffling the landscape and biting at the tips of Spock’s ears. Jim looked up at him and smiled, a soft, besotted look in his clear blue eyes. Spock’s mind sang with the rush of affection and love from his Jim.

He carried all of Winona’s luggage into the guest bedroom, letting the Kirks settle into the living room. When he returned, Jim was on the loveseat, his mother in the leather armchair, already holding a glass of eggnog in her hand- Spock made a mental note to cut her off after two or she would become maudlin. He turned on the fireplace and sat next to Jim, looking at their various seasonal decorations and feeling as much in the Christmas spirit as any Vulcan possibly could.

“Mom,” Jim said, pressing his leg against Spock’s, a slight nervousness clear in his eyes and through their bond. “Me and Spock have something to tell you.”

Winona sipped her eggnog. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Jim.”

“Well…” he began, looking back at Spock for reassurance; Spock grabbed his hand and began to rub small circles into the back of it. Jim smiled and said, “Mom, I’m pregnant.”

Winona was not, generally, one to show much emotion when she was sober; it was one of the traits that Spock respected about her. Now, however, she almost immediately began to cry. “Aw, Mom, c’mon,” Jim said, moving the few feet to pull her into an embrace. When they had hugged for approximately 20.6 seconds, they pulled away, and Winona turned to Spock. “Oh, now, you don’t get out of this, Spock,” she said, and hugged him, as well.

 

The rest of her visit was exceedingly pleasant, Spock subtly steering his mother-in-law away from any alcohol, her and Jim forcing him along on outings into the city, companionable board games in the living room (the board games only became too-competitive when Sam Kirk was on-planet). Winona was overjoyed at the idea of a third grandchild, and took Jim out shopping for some clothes that actually fit. Spock had opted out of this particular field trip, instead taking the opportunity to call his father.

Sarek answered the call on the second ring, indicating he had already been sitting at his terminal. He looked, as usual, blank and calm. They both raised their hands, one practically a mirror image of the other. “Spock, my son,” he said, utterly serene. “Are you well?”

“Yes, father,” Spock replied. He had grown more and more to understand his father as time passed, and they now were, for a Vulcan father and son, very close. However, Spock still reined in his more emotional displays, controls weak from his time spent with ever-emotional Kirks, and attempted to show his father that he had a Vulcan child he could be proud of. “In fact, I would say that I am of exceedingly good fortunate. I called to inform you that my bondmate is expecting a child.”

He had wholly failed to keep the pride out of his voice, but his father surprised Spock by practically smiling, his face relaxing. Their familial bond, though fainter than his bond with Jim, radiated approval. “That is good news, my son. When is the child due?”

“June,” Spock admitted. “We did not inform you sooner because of the increased risks to the pregnancy. I apologize.”

“That was quite logical of you. Tell Jim that I am pleased. I will plan to visit after the child is born; please keep me informed.” Sarek looked into Spock’s eyes through the vidscreen, as though examining any traces of emotion he found there. He seemed pleased with whatever he saw. “Live long, and prosper, my son.”

“Peace and long life,” Spock replied.

 


	3. Chapter 3

As he did on most days, Spock paused in front of the farmhouse to survey the yard and the front of the house. Perhaps it was illogical, but he felt a deep sense of satisfaction- even in the cold gray of January, it was a very beautiful life he had created. He had spent his evening installing a “tire swing” on the sycamore in the yard, which Jim had claimed was “essential” for the well-being of their child. Spock did not necessarily believe him, and would have instead spent his time installing the new security system, or painting the spare room that was to be their child’s, but when Jim turned his blue eyes on Spock, he had acquiesced easily. If it made his bondmate happy, it was a logical use of time.

He sought refuge from the dull cold in the glowing, warm interior of the house. Jim had started the fireplace, and Spock could smell tea brewing in the kitchen. The kitchen was less gloriously warm than the living room, but it contained his own personal sun, and a teapot full of spiced tea. Spock leaned in to kiss his husband, who was sitting at the table, reading a book. “Mmm, hello,” Jim said, gently rubbing Spock’s cold ears and cheeks.

“I have finished installing the ‘tire swing,’ Jim. Please come with me to bed. I am aware that your calves have been causing you some discomfort, and I plan to remedy this.”

“I’m busy, I’m reading my book,” Jim said, slightly petulant. He had always been independent, and Spock, after all of their years together, knew that it was difficult for him to be taken care of. It was a good thing that Spock was just as stubborn.

“May I remind you that Dr. McCoy has been insisting that you relax more,” Spock said. “I am sure he would not be pleased to hear that you have not been following his medical advice.” He and McCoy corresponded regularly to ensure that Jim’s quality of care was consistent. The doctor planned to take some vacation days from his clinic that summer, to deliver the baby and help Jim and Spock on the first few days home. He also called Jim to scold him at least once a week, and the threat of being ratted out seemed to work somewhat, as Jim shrugged and said,

“Okay, fine. But I’m gonna bring my book. You better drink some of the tea I made you, I slaved over it, don’t let it get cold.” Jim watched as Spock poured himself a mug of tea. It was, as always, perfect, and it warmed him to his toes. “Lead the way, gorgeous.” He spent the whole way up the stairs very obviously ogling Spock’s ass. Spock met his eyes and quirked an eyebrow. Jim laughed, the sound filling the staircase brightly.

Jim let him arrange him on the bed, pillows against his back and shoulders, using the feedback from their bond tell him exactly how to make Jim as comfortable as possible. His bright-eyed human quickly gave up on his book and closed his eyes, reveling in Spock’s attentions- he had initiated a surface level meld to force Jim’s muscles to relax with minimal effort. He tried to ignore the soft, pleased noises Jim was making. It was difficult; they were very distracting.

Suddenly, Jim’s eyes flew open. “Spock,” he gasped.

Through their meld, Spock had felt it too, a gentle nudging inside Jim. He insinuated his hands under Jim’s shirt and pressed his palms gently to his stomach. After a few moments, he felt another faint movement under the skin. All at once Spock felt an extreme possessiveness. He had put this baby, this baby that was _his_ , in _his_ bondmate.

Spock left one hand against Jim’s belly and tangled the other in his dirty-blonde hair. “Jim,” he said, his voice hoarse. Their teeth clashed together a little when Spock kissed him, perhaps a little rough, but he could feel Jim’s giddy pleasure and consent through his skin. Their contact was heady. Jim smelled like soap and spicy tea. He began working his way down Jim’s body, cherishing each loving word and the steady stream of _yesyesyes_ through their bond.

When he reached Jim’s belly, he slowed, gently kissing along the gentle curve. “Mine,” he growled against the soft, soft skin. Jim made a titillating picture like this; spread across the flannel bedsheets, lips parted, clothes disheveled, legs falling open, swollen with Spock’s child. He growled again, extremely pleased with the mental image of parading Jim around in public, this visible evidence of Spock’s claim making it clear to whom Jim belonged. This possessive behavior, the idea of claiming a mate, was very savage, and very Vulcan; but Jim could read it all through their bond, and was only growing steadily more turned on, so Spock made no effort to repress it. He began to methodically strip them both.

Leaving their clothes in a messy heap off the side of the bed, Spock quickly reassured himself that Jim was comfortable before running his knuckles along his mate’s sex. Jim gasped. “Just- fuck me- I’m s-so ready for you…” Spock moved slightly slower than he wanted to, ensuring that none of his movement could possibly cause any discomfort or harm to the most precious being in the universe that squirmed beneath him.

Jim took Spock’s hand and pushed it clumsily against his meld points, letting out a small, needy noise. Spock immediately pushed into Jim’s mind, their shared pleasure reverberating, increasing exponentially.  For the past few months, Jim had more often than not felt too sick to engage in sexual activities, so it did not take very long at all for Spock to climax, Jim following along within seconds. They basked in the glow, lying on their sides, Spock pressing Vulcan kisses onto Jim’s hips, Jim running his fingers along the tips of Spock’s ears.

“Is it kinda weird that our reaction to the baby kicking was…” Jim licked his lips.

“Negative,” Spock replied, his voice warm. “Dr. McCoy included material in his correspondence to me that indicated the changes in your hormones may lead to increased sex drive at this stage in the pregnancy.”

Jim laughed. “I bet Bones hated that mental image.”

“Since I am sure it has not escaped Dr. McCoy that babies are the result of sexual intercourse, it could not have come as a surprise to him.” Jim laughed again, brightening the room and making Spock feel a sense of smug satisfaction.

They talked quietly for almost an hour after, kissing gently when conversation was slow. Jim finally fell asleep, his breathing slowing. Spock noted the way he needed most of the pillows they owned to prop himself up, and decided to purchase Jim one of the “pregnancy pillows” he had come across in his research.


End file.
